


Promise in Gold

by SillyBlue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Genderswap, Sibling Love, girl!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillyBlue/pseuds/SillyBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the apocalypse and resisting having their bodies used against their will, Dean finds it hard to ignore the advent of Christmas. Chances are it's to be their last one (yet again...) and Dean got it into his head to make it special for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise in Gold

**Author's Note:**

> This was the very first SPN fanfiction I wrote, based on a number of prompts. It was written in 2011 but since it was out of season I haven't published it to AO3 before. 
> 
> It's non-established Wincest with always-a-girl!Sam.
> 
> As before; this is still a humble offering to Esmerod who started my fascination with Supernatural

It starts out with nothing more than a hazily scribbled note on a sticky napkin. Dean found it tugged deep within the back pocket of his trousers, crumbled, torn at various places and the ink smeared. For a short moment he had expected and hoped for the mobile number of a girl, even though he could not quite recall having put actual effort into flirting with anyone at that particular bar. But his lacking recollection of a pretty face, or sloppy kisses, or a number didn’t really mean much. He also barely remembered having written the note. He must have had two or three beers too many, because under normal circumstances these were not words that he would have deemed necessary to note:

_Christmas. Get Sam a gift._

He crumpled the note, crushing it between his palms and rolling it around a bit, eyes wandering over the non-descript walls of the motel they were staying at. He wasn’t exceptionally fond of what he saw, but neither was it anything out of the ordinary. They had seen worse, much worse than this. It was just a motel room – two beds, a bit of dirt, the weapons on the table, properly arranged even though they seemed to be merely strewn about the fake wood surface, the open bags between their beds, a shirt with blood and holes, Sam’s laptop next to a stack of books. This was _normal_. This was _fine_. Dean tossed the note into the trash-can.

* * *

 

It was nothing more than a memo on his phone when he pulled it out of his jacket to call Sam. He didn’t remember typing that either. He wondered if he should be more worried about his drunken girly note writing or the fact that there must have been a reason to get drunk enough to cause minor black-outs in the first place. He decided to worry on behalf of the former issue. Some superfluous letters, some typos, but whatever drunken Dean had wanted sober Dean to remember was clear:

_Christmas. Get her a gift._

With a disdainful wrinkle of the nose Dean deleted the memo and punched in the numbers. What if this was nothing more than a prank? Maybe he had gotten on that idiotic angel’s bad side again? Maybe Sam was trying to hint at something in a not that subtle approach? Or maybe he’d been drunk enough to think it’d be funny to harass himself? If he were honest with himself, he did deserve quite more in the way of pay-back than he actually received, but being in this angel-demons-destinies mess he guesses he probably got enough trouble already to have someone up there have mercy on him.

“Sam?” Dean called when the ringing stopped to signal Sam’s picking up. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He did feel the remnants of being drunk, even if only slightly. “Found anything? Where are you now?” The clear, straight to the point voice of Sam eased some of his oncoming head-ache and he was glad to take his mind elsewhere. To a case, specifically, even if it was nothing great and nothing world-shaking in the face of an apocalypse. Dean snapped his phone shut and got into his car. But an obnoxious stick-it note was fixed to his steering wheel. It had the shape of a Christmas tree and Dean barely succeeded in forcing down a groan. Where the hell had he got that thing? Had he been possessed or something last night? Honestly, _what the hell?!_

It held no words, but the message was clear. Right now, Christmas seemed even more imminent than the apocalypse. A looming presence at the edge of his mind, dark and dreadful for all the implications that were connected to it. Portents of its arrival were strewn all about town, lights and statues and red and green and the smell and the haunted rush and too happy people. Only in the face of great disaster and the end of the world, did Christmas really unfurl all of its symbolic significance. And Dean hated it.

* * *

 

Their poltergeist case turned out to be laughable, the thing had not even been menacing. A soul not long dead, not yet filled to bursting point will ill-intent. Still, they burned the object that’s been chaining the guy to this world. And did Dean loathe meaningful _coincidences_. Why did a poltergeist _need_ to be tied to a Christmas-themed snow globe? He really, really hated when the universe wanted him to take the hint. Dean was intent on sparing himself the embarrassment of another drunken night followed by harassing memos and post-its, but that didn’t mean that he felt like tackling the problem. Oh, he knew what the issue was, he knew it well enough, but he did not want to dwell on it.

Sam was packing up, stuffing clothes and weapons and research into bags and the one small girly travel suitcase with the wheels, the one that came into her possession during their self-inflicted time-out not that long ago. He liked to tease her about it, like he liked to tease her about anything that seemed so out of place in their life-style; the notebook (diary. Dean was sure) she kept under her pillow next to her small handgun, the glittery sticker that was fixed on the upper right corner of her laptop, the art-nouveau bookmark she stuck between the smelly pages of ancient tomes, the nail polish he’d found under the passenger seat of the Impala, nice looking underwear in a pile of others chosen for pragmatic reasons. He teased her, but secretly he hated how out of place those ordinary things were in the life that they’ve come to accept as their _norm_. Weapons, holy water, folklore books, blood – _those_ were supposed to be out of the ordinary! With every year that passed, with their fucked-up responsibilities and duties weighing down on her shoulders and her smiles and with every end they faced he hated it more.

“So,” Dean tentatively started, rolling his shoulders to down-play the nervousness he was absolutely sure she should be able to hear in something as little as one word. Sam shouldered her bag and took the suitcase. She went through the open door and Dean followed her outside. “Christmas’s just around the bend.”

“And?” Sam asked, throwing their stuff into the back, looking at Dean when the hood closed with a thud. Dean tried not to feel discouraged by her inquiring gaze. “ _Dean_.”

“I’m just saying,” he snorted, suddenly more uncomfortable than before. Why had he brought this up in the first place?

“So you want to celebrate or what?” she asked with one corner of the lip drawn up slightly – it was not a grin, not be a far stretch. She seemed irritated or at least displeased for some reason. “I thought we’d decided to boycott Christmas? You said-“ Dean tilted his head back, with a slight groan.

“I know what I said, okay? I just wanted to piss off our little Christmas angel!” He did not look at her again until he was inside his car, hands fumbling with the radio. She let herself fall into the passenger seat with a huff and closed the door.

“He hardly cares about human celebrations, especially the mock Christian ones that are all about conspicuous consumption anyway,” his sister snorted when Dean quickly pushed a tape into the player to avoid the typical cheesy Christmas songs that every station felt necessary to play.

“Way to kill the mood, Sammy,” he mumbled. Laughter escaped Sam’s lips at that and Dean turned around the keys, igniting the motor. She looked at him, her eyebrows drawn up in amusement.

“I didn’t know there _was_ a mood to kill,” she said and Dean eyed her, feeling suddenly embarrassed again and more than a little bit annoyed with her behaviour. Or maybe with his behaviour. Why couldn’t he just get the words out? “Do you want to celebrate?” Sam asked again, a little bit more pressure to her words. She was offering him an easy way out of this situation.

“No.” Sam shrugged, leaning back against the backrest, her legs crossed at the ankles. There was silence between them, Sam looking out of the window at the city passing them. Dean hated how dealing with Sam had become more difficult. She used to be able to read his expressions and he hers. She knew what he intended to say and intended to do. Their Christmas celebrations had never been quite happy and Sam had in turn stopped caring. But he’d tried in the past, he had tried to make it count when faced with the fact that _this would be it._ His last Christmas. (Which fortunately, turned out not to be the last one) Impending doom did all kinds of mushy things to his head to the point where everything about him, about Sam, about _them_ was a bit more important, a bit more significant. She had picked up on it before, two years ago. So why didn’t she do so now? Didn’t she realize why this one was as significant as the one they had ended up spending in their motel room, with a cheap-ass tree and random gifts? The package had been all wrong, no gifts that came from the heart, no decorations, but the feelings of being together, of spending time with the one person you loved most in the world and to care about that… That had been real.

“Dean,” Sam started again after a couple of minutes had passed, her voice imploring, but Dean just shook his head, eyes fixed on the road.

“Forget it.” His sister sighed irritably, but she shut up about it and started talking about another possible case. Dean wasn’t listening, her voice merely white noise accompanying the tape and the rumble of the Impala’s engine. Dean recalled just why he had gotten drunk in the first place.

* * *

 

It turned to be a constant thought. Maybe she didn’t feel like celebrating and he couldn’t care less about Christmas in general, but he really did not want what might just end up being their last Christmas to be a bleak affair. Last year they had grabbed food from a diner and ended up in a bar. No gifts, no shouts of “Merry Christmas!”, just a bit of free time between one broken seal and the next. Apparently, Lucifer was busy decorating his Christmas tree, because there was no extraordinary demon activity, no omens, nothing. They had a couple of ghosts, some harmless witches. Like the windows of an advent calendar, they got something every day, no surprises, neither good nor bad ones.

“Look, Dean,” Sam started, fingers rubbing her forehead. She fixed him with her eyes just as he wanted to disappear into the bathroom. He knew that tone and he greatly disliked it. “You’re starting to get on my nerves with your constant broodiness.” Dean wanted to object to that because he was not broody! She closed her laptop and continued, patient, but making it clear enough that her patience was wearing thin. “Is this about Christmas?” Dean screwed up his face in annoyance. “We can talk about this.”

“Why do you always need to talk? There’s no issue, so stop trying to make one!” Sam rolled her eyes and remained sitting. Dean knew he was in for it now. Her eyes softened and the displeased lines that her frown had caused between her eyebrows eased out. She knew how to get him, and looking up at him with these soft eyes full of understanding, even though he believed that she didn’t quite know what this was all about, was just the way to go about it.

“Dean… This is your ‘last opportunity before the end’ thing again, isn’t it?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, feeling oddly exposed standing before his sister when she talked like this. She raised her eyebrows once at the lack of counterarguments, then she breathed out through her nose. Dean wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or pitied him. Both weren’t really desirable, but he could deal with the annoyance far better than with pity. “You know that you don’t exactly put me in the best of moods with this, right?” Dean shrugged.

“There’s no sugar coating it. It’s the freaking apocalypse and we’re sitting at the front row.”

“Whenever are we not sitting at the front row?” Sam countered but Dean shook his head. Sam wiped her hair out of her face, then she leant back in the chair, raising her hands. “Okay. I don’t mind celebrating Christmas, really, but you just want it for the wrong reasons…” She opened her laptop again and started typing. Was this conversation over now? Dean tilted his head slightly, then he let his arms drop and walked over to the table. He took the beer bottle, turning it around in his hands before actually guiding it to his mouth.

“What now?” he asked after a moment of silence stretching between them.

“I don’t care. You want to celebrate Christmas, so you’re going to organize whatever you think is necessary for the perfect ‘Last Christmas’.” She turned around to look at him. “What do you want?” Dean was a bit surprised by the question, but put a grin on his face.

“I’m good. You stop bitching about it and I’ll be perfectly fine.” Sam rolled her eyes.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

* * *

 

_Christmas. Get her a present._

Dean thought after he had gotten the initial hurdle out of the way, his mind would be at peace, at least until Christmas was over. Sam didn’t look at him like he was a bomb in danger of blowing up any moment anymore, but her eyes still held a tad of worry in them when he caught her studying him. But she had promised to stop bitching to him about his wish to celebrate Christmas and she was holding up her end of the bargain.

Of course, Dean wasn’t so keen on fooling himself that he honestly believed the problem to be out of the world. Heaven still had getting them to say yes on their schedule and he was still anxious about Sam and her walking on the edge to the dark side. He still hadn’t got over Sam going with Ruby, he still hadn’t got over her betrayal of his trust and he still hadn’t got over all the pain. Deep down he knew that it was a matter of time until everything would shatter around them, but he held on as hard as he could to the small shreds of hope that resisting and making their own choices would get them somewhere. He just didn’t want to end up in a world where Sam was out of reach.

But Christmas was the more pressing issue right now. Dean was steering them towards South Dakota in his choice of hunts, because the only place they could stay at that was not a motel was Bobby’s. If Sam had noticed the direction they were heading, then she didn’t feel the urge to comment on it. With the most recent hunt done Dean had only two days left to figure out the most pressing issue.

_Get her a present._

But what? Dean had never tried to get her something meaningful. He had brought her gifts solely for the sake of getting her something. It had been about actively spending time together, drinking alcohol, watching something on the TV, just being comfortable in each other’s presence without having to think about a hunt or Dad or now the goddamn apocalypse. Normal people, Dean assumed, gave presents that the recipients appreciate because it’s coming from the heart or something equally stupid. The problem was, Dean really had no idea at all what to get his sister.

“Where – Sam?!” His sister shot him an impatient look, eyebrows drawn up in a “now what?” expression. Dean didn’t like stumbling out of the shower just to find his sister about to go out of the door. “Where are you going?”

“Calm down, Dean. I was just going out to do some Christmas shopping,” she told him, her features relaxing into a sly smile when she noticed how this didn’t seem to sit too well with Dean. And indeed he was openly frowning at her.

“Why?” he demanded to know and Sam rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. She was wrapped in layers of shirts and jackets, making her look bulky and taller than she already was. Maybe, the thought flashed through Dean’s mind, he should get her a nice form-fitting coat? Sam stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

“Because it’s already the 22nd and if you plan on celebrating then I have to get a couple of presents,” she replied after a while. “So I’m heading out.”

“… Fine,” was all that Dean could say. She nodded at him and then she was out of the door with a promise to be back to grab a bite at the diner. Apparently she was getting him something, apparently she knew that they were heading for Bobby’s (she said presents after all, not just a present) and apparently she already knew what she’d get him. Dean felt a bit torn between annoyance and worry. He had to get her a nice present, one that she’d like, one that she’d be happy about. He had no idea. He knew that apparently there were certain society approved rules concerning gift-making, but Dean had never had occasion (or bothered) to learn about that. But one thing that he knew applied to Christmas? It’s the thought that counts. So as long as he’d not grab the first thing just to be done with it or the last possible thing at the last possible gas station, then he’d be fine. Not that this actually got him anywhere, but he had to try. Drying his hair, shrugging into his coat and picking up the keys he mentally prepared himself for an exhausting hunt of a different kind.

* * *

 

“No, listen Cas. I need your help.” Dean leant against the wall, overlooking what he could see of the shopping district. He had chosen to go to the next city, unwilling to run into Sam on his ‘shopping tour’ (though he was loath to call it that. So it was his _gift hunt_. Not that this sounded any better, but he could pretend that hunting sounded less emasculating than shopping did). There seemed to be a good number of shops, actually too many, surely he’d find something. The problem was that the entire city seemed to have the same idea as he did. All those stupid last minute shoppers! It was so crowded that Dean had had to think twice about going inside. He had been at a mall or any place people frequented to go shopping on very rare occasions (he didn’t do ‘shopping’. He went to the store, got what he needed and left again). He had accompanied Sam a few times when she had wanted to go shopping with a few friends. Dad hadn’t liked it; there were too many distractions, too many people. Dean agreed.

//I’m still at Bobby’s. The task you have given me is more time consuming than I would have expected…// Dean turns his eyes upwards, barely able to contain his tired sigh.

“Can’t you just zap over here and help me out for a bit, man?” Dean hated to actually turn to Castiel for help, not that he really expected anything fruitful to come out of sticking their heads together, but at least he’d be able to share his thoughts and vague ideas with someone. Bobby had outright refused to be of help, telling him that he should just get her something she didn’t have and be done with it.

//Where are you?// Castiel asked after a while and Dean almost breathed a sigh of relief.  

“I’m at the Lindale Mall, Cedar Rapids, Iowa…” Dean said, stepping out of the way when a small group of women with buggies walked past him without any regards to other mall goers. He threw them an exasperated look, but only got seductive smiles in return. In any case, Dean was immensely grateful that Castiel didn’t seem to want to ask him what he was doing in a shopping mall. Either the angel didn’t care or he didn’t know that malls weren’t the natural habitat of men like Dean.

//I will finish the task at hand and then assist you,// Castiel informed him and without any decorum, the conversation was over. Dean rolled his eyes and decided that he should best do some reconnaissance work.

* * *

 

Dean really did hate shopping malls. After just thirty minutes he had had enough. He couldn’t believe how people would willingly subject themselves to the troubles of shopping in too crowded places during the Christmas rush. He bought himself a burger and something to drink at Burger King and sat down at an empty table. He was lucky that it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner or else he wouldn’t have found a space to sit at.

“Hello Dean.” Dean gave a start. He was used to the angel just appearing out of nowhere, but- He turned around and widened his eyes even more.

“Cas?! What the hell?! Why-“ Dean shook his head, completely taken aback. Before him stood a girl he didn’t think he’d see again. The blonde teen was chewing at the straw of her own drink.

“I’m not Castiel…,” she told him and Dean, even though his confusion remained, relaxed slightly. He studied her with a bit of suspicion gnawing at him, but then he jerked his head towards the free chair in front of him. Dean couldn’t quite remember her name. He’d heard it, yelled, sobbed, moaned with desperation and blood bubbling around the words. But that was not the way he wanted to remember women’s names, not in that tone, not in these deadly situations.

“You’re Jimmy Novak’s kid,” he said after a while and saw her nod.

“Claire,” she offered and he nodded. Right, of course. Claire. “I’m sorry to bother you like this. I just didn’t expect to see you here…” Dean pulled up his eyebrows, nodding with a deep sigh.

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he said, eating the rest of his burger. “Is anything the matter? Why are you here in Iowa? Don’t you live in Pontiac anymore?” Claire nodded and he flipped the fries around so that she could take some. She shot him a quick smile and took a few before answering:

“I do, Mommy couldn’t bear leaving… But some of Mommy’s friends live here. We’re visiting for the holidays…,” she explained and Dean could see the unasked question in her eyes. Shining and bright and fearful. “Is…”

“Is your Dad okay?” Dean finished her question, his voice gentle. She blushed slightly, but nodded, eyes still fixed on his. “Honestly? I don’t know… I guess he’s inside Castiel, safely tucked away in layers of feathers or something,” he said. Half-truths and half-lies. But Dean really didn’t know and he had never bothered to ask Castiel about the true inhabitant of his vessel. He clearly regretted this now. Claire still managed a small grateful smile at that and Dean felt immensely more guilty for some reason.

“And… why are you here at the mall? There haven’t been any strange things going on in this city. I checked the net before coming here,” she told him and Dean was a bit surprised to hear it.

“You did?” There was a mix of pride and embarrassment on Claire’s face as she nodded. “Why?”

“Because there are monsters and demons and angels out there?” Claire answered, raising her eyebrows at him, “I do pay attention nowadays…” Dean rubbed his forehead at that, suddenly feeling tired. “So?”

“No… Just hunting for a present…,” he told her, crunching up the burger’s wrapper into a small ball, “actually I’m waiting for some help because I’ve no idea what to get. But he’s taking his sweet time…” Claire actually laughed at that.

“Maybe I can help? Is it for your wife? Uhm, Sam, right? Samantha Winchester.” Dean blinked at her, too surprised to say anything, but then he had to laugh. Claire seemed startled and upset at that. “Why are you laughing?” Dean lifted his hands, shrugging but still laughing merrily. Sure, it hadn’t been the first time that they got mistaken for a couple, but coming out of Claire’s mouth with such conviction? It was actually quite cute.

“I’m sorry, Claire. I would appreciate your help,” he said and Claire still had red tinted cheeks, but she nodded slowly.

* * *

 

It was peculiar to go shopping with a young girl. He got some funny looks from certain people that probably tried to figure out how the two of them were related. Dean didn’t care, but it wasn’t as if walking around the too big mall with Claire was agreeable. She was cute, a bit bubbly once she lost some of her shyness and polite, certainly a very sweet girl. But he couldn’t help being uneasy and feeling guilty. There she was, another life messed up by heaven and he could do nothing about it. Nothing but win the apocalypse and hope that there was still something of Jimmy Novak left when Castiel had no more need for a vessel. That she kept asking him for things related to repelling demons and protective charms while browsing the racks of a fashion store wasn’t really helping either. Dean did end up giving her his phone number, just in case anything serious ever came up. The thought of dragging her to a tattoo artist to get the anti-possession tattoo on her crossed his mind, but that was probably out of the question.

“Text me your address, I’ll send you and your mom charms and some picture of Enochian sigils via mail if you’d like,” he promised her and she smiled up at him. It was no sure way to keep her safe, nothing was, but at least he tried.

“Thank you, Dean,” she said gratefully, the genuine smile lighting up her entire face and he couldn’t help getting embarrassed. He hadn’t know before, but that was exactly the expression he hoped for when Sam opened his gift.

-o-

They ended up not finding anything for Sam that Dean liked, but he still spent about 200$ on getting Claire a nice winter coat and matching scarf and hat. And a new hat for Bobby and a sweater he knew would be completely wasted on Castiel. But it was the thought that counted he reminded himself. And Cas was flying all around America picking up whatever Dean deemed necessary for Christmas.

“Don’t worry. Castiel will pay for it,” he said with a wink when Claire still looked at the bag in her hands in disbelief. “Thank you for your help, Claire.”

“But… I haven’t actually been that helpful, you still haven’t found anything for Sam,” she mumbled, but clutched the bag to her chest. Dean grinned.

“At least I have an idea what kind of things girls want!”

“You should _know_ what kind of things girls want. You’ve probably known Sam for years, you’re expected to know by now just what she wants to have from you!” she told him sternly and Dean couldn’t help chewing his lips at that. Claire burst out laughing, but then her mobile phone beeped and she pulled it out of her purse. “I have to go… Mommy’s already in the car outside, waiting to pick me up.” Dean nodded at that and Claire looked up at him. Before he could say anything remotely cool to her, she reached up and hugged him. “Thank you.” Getting over his initial surprise, Dean returned the hug, then he let go of her and grinned.

“Remember, if anything comes up you call me.” She nodded.

“Say hi to Sam and Castiel from me. And tell him to take good care of Daddy.” Her expression turned sad at that and he lifted her chin, smiling encouragingly.

“I promise,” Dean said, waiting for a smile to creep back on Claire’s lips, then he waved at her and she turned around. When she was gone, Dean sighed and leant against the wall. An exhausting afternoon.

And he still didn’t have a present.

* * *

 

Claire’s innocent observation haunted him. He really was supposed to know what to get her, wasn’t he? He was her brother! But Sam had never voiced particular wishes. Whatever she needed she got. She seemed happy enough considering the circumstances. The things that she probably really wanted – and end to their lives of hunting, a time when it was no longer necessary to hunt because everything was _done_ – he probably could never give her. He could not ease the burden on her shoulders because he had far too much to carry on his own. The only thing he could do was be there for her. To be family. It is the thing that mattered most to him, but was it the thing that mattered most to her?

He wanted to give her a token of his love and dedication. Maybe she’d understand, maybe she wouldn’t. But at least it would be meaningful to him.

He was bent over the display of a jewellery store, when he heard it for the second time:

“Hello Dean.” Dean didn’t even need to look up, he just rolled his eyes at the angel and continued looking through the items. Expensive, less expensive, real, fake. There were a lot of things that girls might consider nice (at least Claire had, she had wanted him to get Sam a ring with some gem stone in it).

“You took long enough,” Dean mumbled by way of greeting and straightened up. He almost bumped into Castiel when he turned around and made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. When Castiel took a step back, unbidden - maybe he had finally learnt the lesson - Dean raised his eyebrows at him. There were pine needles sticking to the trench-coat.

“I was busy,” Castiel said unceremoniously, then he tilted his head, taking in their surroundings, “what can I help you with?” Dean sighed and turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder.

“I need to get Sam a present,” he said and the unchanging but attentive expression on Castiel’s face didn’t exactly encourage him to go on. “I thought about getting her jewellery, because apparently that’s the thing girls want.”

“It’s impractical in battle. I would advise against it,” Castiel replied, studying the long necklaces. He was right of course, that’s just what his dad had always told Sam. Sam had only got the lesson when a ghost had ripped out her earring and she hasn’t worn any ever since. “But if you insist, then a ring would be least dangerous.”

“Do you plan on getting her anything?” Dean asked and Castiel looked at him with his eyebrows knit together.

“I assumed that it was what humans do. The practice of presenting gifts is a matter of great import in almost all human cultures. Obligations-“ Dean stopped him with an annoyed groan and grabbed him by the upper arm, dragging him out of the store.

“So what have you got her?” he asked almost impatiently, standing to the side of the shop entrance, searching for another shop that might be more rewarding. But he honestly started to doubt that he would find what he really wanted to get her _here_. Maybe he really should just go for a form-fitting coat all the women seemed to be wearing right now and be done with it.

“I got her a manuscript of the _Malleus Maleficarum_. Kramer was especially intent on writing a dedication in it when he learnt what I was…” Dean stared at him with disbelief and wanted to call him an idiot, but that’s when suddenly an idea formed in his head.

“I know what to get her,” he announced, a smile spreading on his face, and Castiel looked at him quizzically, “come on!”

* * *

 

Dean took Sam out for breakfast on Christmas Eve. They usually ate in a diner anyway, but this time he chose a proper restaurant. They were still some distance away from Sioux Fall, their journey being a bit slower than necessary because while there was no snow, there was ice on some roads. Dean was in no particular hurry to get to Bobby’s; they’d decided on doing their gift exchange on the 25th, reserving the evening of the 24th for a simple dinner. Sam was standing in the entrance of the restaurant, nose and ears slightly red from the cold and again wrapped in many layers to keep warm. She looked like someone that had just spent a night in the woods, hair unkempt, shoulders stiff, no make-up. She looked like Sammy always did unless they were posing as agents and Dean found it in himself to regret it. She raised her eyebrows sceptically when he helped her out of the uppermost layer of jackets to hang it on the coat rack.

“Okay, Dean,” she started with amusement apparent in her voice when the jacket was up on the rack. She didn’t feel the need to finish her sentence, because _okay_ was all he needed to hear; she was willing to humour him and play along at whatever he had planned for them. The restaurant Dean had picked was actually quite nice – it looked slightly old fashioned with dark wooden panelling and tapestry on the wall, but everything was done remarkably well and tasteful, from the sturdy wooden tables to the comfortable chairs, the table cloths and the pictures hanging on the walls. Also, the Christmas decorations were kept at a bearable level; some flower arrangements, garlands hanging on some walls, twigs of mistletoe on others. They were guided to a table and promptly received coffee and warm croissants along with their menus.

“Take whatever you want, _honey_ ” Dean said, grinning over the top of his leather-bound menu. Sam had the decency not to roll her eyes at him or call him a jerk. Instead she just smiled and went through the menu before ordering the Christmas special. Dean took the same, looking forwards to cinnamon and fluffy pancakes, and the waitress showed them a brilliant smile before taking her leave.

“Are you going to do that the entire day now?” Sam asked when she was out of ear-shot and Dean folded his hands on top of the table with an innocent grin playing on his lips.

“What am I doing?” he wondered and Sam leant back in her chair.

“Playing the devoted brother. Boyfriend, whatever,” she answered and Dean’s grin widened, not willing to let her discouraging tone get to his resolution.

“I can be a doting when I want to. Do you dislike it?” he inquired smugly and Sam’s face took on a surprised expression for a second, before she relaxed again and took a mouthful of her coffee.

“No.” Dean counted that as the first in a series of small victories.

* * *

 

The tension gradually left Sam over the course of the day. Dean still listened to the music she was fed up with but endured for peace’s sake, there were still weapons in the trunk of the Impala, there were still scratches on her fingers clenching a steaming coffee cup, they were still hunting and hunted in this apocalypse. But it was _fine_ , today and tomorrow it would be fine.

When he tried, she reacted with kindness, thanked him for taking her jacket, thanked him for paying her share of the bill, thanked him for opening the door to the Impala for her. He was playing a new kind of game, but she knew the rules by heart and she knew how to play along.

Dean hadn’t forgotten the pain of dwindling trust in her and he had not forgotten what lay in store for them. It still hurt, it still scared the hell out of him. But this was _it_ , once again, the last Christmas. And nothing mattered but trying to make her happy in the ways he best knew how.

“Do you want to stop over for dinner?” Sam asked as they were just two more hours away from Bobby’s place. “It is getting dark and the forecast said it would snow by the time we get there.” Dean shrugged, tapping his fingers on the leather of the wheel in the rhythm of the music. Sam turned down the volume. “Aren’t you tired yet?”

“We’ll be home soon, no point in eating already when Bobby and Cas are making dinner,” Dean said and he didn’t have to look at her to know that she was frowning at him. She snorted loudly and Dean took his eyes off the road to look at her, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” Sam in turn raised both eyebrows at him, pursing her lips. He focused on the street again. “Come on, Sammy! Bobby can’t possibly do all the cooking, he’s stuck in a wheel chair. An extra pair of legs and hands are surely helpful. Cas knows how to follow directions, he’ll be able to figure out a damn recipe!” Sam just shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe that Dean was making an _angel_ cook, but she didn’t seem annoyed at him.

“Then we’ll eat when we get home.” Dean nodded, a tickling sensation pooling in his stomach. It felt like a rush of nervousness and it usually caused him to be alert, but actually he knew that he was just excited. She had said it to: they were on their way _home_.

* * *

 

Dean and Sam could see the Christmas decorations of Bobby’s place from a mile away. The salvage yard was lit up like a sea of lights, glittering through the constant, gentle snow fall.  The chain of lights were wrapped around the rusting car towers, all of them a gentle yellowish hue, no frantic blinking, no kitsch. Enough snow had fallen that there was a thin layer covering the ground and the cars. The front porch of the house was strewn with tea candles flickering in all kind of glasses, some cracked, some dirty and some coloured, and more Christmas lights were hanging from the roof.

Dean opened the door of the passenger seat, helping Sam out, then he left her to admire the unusual sight while he got their bags and the gifts out of the trunk.

“I don’t want to see Bobby’s electricity bill at the end of the year,” he commented, chuckling amusedly. Sam shrugged, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket and followed Dean to the house. Dean banged his free hand on the door twice and they heard Bobby call from the inside. Castiel opened the door and Dean was surprised to see the trench coat replaced by an apron.

“Come in,” the angel said flatly even though Dean was howling with laughter and Sam was pressing her lips together in an attempt to keep herself from joining Dean. He stepped to the side to let them enter, narrowing his eyes just slightly at Dean’s constant laughter. “Bobby is in the kitchen,” he continued, addressing Sam who nodded and left for the kitchen straight away. “Dean.” Dean rubbed his eyes, still chuckling, but nodded at Castiel. He walked ahead, going up the stairs and Dean followed. The room the siblings usually stayed in was tidied up, the bed freshly made and some of the furniture looked as if they had been replaced. It actually looked cozy and Dean raised his eyebrows, looking at Castiel wide-eyed. The angel mimicked the expression, then he went to the new wardrobe and pulled out a small but neatly wrapped present. “I got what you asked me for.”

“Thanks, Cas!” Dean said, taking the present carefully. He lifted it to his face and a vaguely familiar scent greeted his nose. “That’s perfect!” He looked up at Castiel, but the angel had vanished, Dean could hear his muffled voice coming in from down-stairs through the open door. “Typical.” Dean deposited their bags in the wardrobe, surprisingly finding it full of washed and pressed clothing. Not one to miss out on the opportunity, he pulled off his clothes in favor of something clean and nice smelling. When he got down and into the living room he was greeted by the sight of Bobby in front of a Christmas tree, rearranging the parcels underneath it. Like the salvage yard and their refashioned room, the Christmas-tree was tastefully decorated; the ornaments were pale blue and crème coloured and not overloading the tree. Actually, the entire house was cleaned up, even Bobby’s library looked orderly.

“Wow, Bobby, I like what your wife did to the house!” Dean laughed and the old hunter growled at him in annoyance.

“Hello to you too, ungrateful bastard!” he said, then he made a dismissive gesture, “out of the way you idjits!” Dean and Sam got out of the way as Bobby wheeled himself back to the kitchen, where Castiel apparently tried to figure out how to dress the table with a look of utter concentration. Sam laughed, then she turned to Dean and the expression she wore was fabulous. She was truly enjoying this judging by the toothy smile that dimpled her cheeks, the same laugh she’d reserve for him only years ago.

“A real Christmas tree! Cas said he nicked it from a tree nursery in Germany somewhere! Dude, this is incredible! I can’t wait for it to be tomorrow!” She crouched down and looked at the half dozen wrapped parcels.

“Told you so,” Dean said teasingly and Sam looked up at him with a loving smile. He couldn’t help blushing at that, his own grin almost splitting his face.

“Now get your asses in here, Winchesters!” Bobby called, promptly followed by a: “Dammit Cas! You don’t take it out of the oven with your bare hands! Why did I give you a pair of oven mitts you idiot? At least pretend to be a normal person!”

“I am an angel, I don’t need oven mitts,” Castiel retorted, his tone slightly tenacious, and put what seemed to be good old home-made lasagne on the table. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“I’m glad when Christmas’s over and we can return to the daily craze of hunting the usual critters,” he said with a snort and Sam laughed, looking side-ways at Dean. Her open mouthed laugh turned into a gentle smile.

“I like it.” Dean counted another small victory.

* * *

 

Sitting around the table and just talking about nothing of great importance took the four of them well into the night. Castiel was doing the dishes while the humans talked, apparently he found something akin to peace of mind when his hands had something with purpose to do, even if the purpose was limited to tidying up. When it was about eleven o’clock Bobby could no longer sit at the table and talk about meaningless things even though Dean tried to start new conversations when he noticed Bobby’s attention straying.

“Just go to sleep,” Bobby snorted, “and let me go read up on some stuff. There’s still things out there that want to ruin your perfect little Christmas and if you don’t let me leave the table now then just you know that I’ll be that thing!” Dean lifted his hands, giving up. Castiel snatched the used whiskey glass out of Bobby’s hands and the hunter hit his now empty palm flat on the table in annoyance. “Can’t you at least wait until I’m done drinking? Jesus.” Bobby shook his head and glared at the Winchesters with a warning look, but refrained from saying anything. Dean decided to take Bobby’s advice and hit the sack – they had spent quite a few hours on the road, his stomach was full, he had drunken enough to feel comfortable and the prospect of falling into clean sheets seemed like too good to be true.

“Cas?” he called and the angel looked up, shaking his hands free from washing water. When he had his attention, Dean reached into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out two anti-possession charms on leather strings. “Can you get those and some sigils to the Novaks? I promised Claire.” Castiel didn’t even seem surprised, Dean suspected that Castiel had only taken so long to show up because he’d avoided the girl. He took them with a nod and left in a rustle of wings, still wearing his apron. Sam did raise her eyebrows at Dean.

“You met Claire Novak? Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean shrugged and Sam sighed deeply, but it was more the kind of sigh that said signalled him that she didn’t really need him to explain himself. “Whatever, Dean. I’m taking a shower.” Dean finished his beer, wished Bobby a good night and walked up the stairs to their room. Sam was still in the shower, he could hear the water running in the bathroom down the corridor, so he changed and slipped under the blankets. They weren’t scratchy, but soft and agreeably heavy around his body. He couldn’t even find it in himself to snort at some of the girlier aspects of their room’s new décor. Before Dean had given Castiel and Bobby the task to prepare everything for a picture perfect Christmas (a task Castiel had taken way too serious, judging by how the room’s décor looked right out of a magazine) the room had been nothing but a place to catch a few restless hours of sleep in-between research and waiting for new catastrophes. Dean barely remembered when he and Sam had last spent the night in the room together, asleep at the same time instead of taking shifts. Dean wondered if it should be awkward for them to sleep in the same bed – it was not like they didn’t occasionally do it when on hunts, but usually there was complaining and restless shifting involved. Because Dean hadn’t showered and smelled like beer and sweat, because Sam was all long arms and legs, too tall to fit comfortably next to him, because he didn’t like her legs brushing against his when she hadn’t shaved them, because he snored, because she drooled. Because, because, because. They always found thousands of reasons to be annoyed at each other and make the experience less agreeable than it could be. But maybe not today.

Sam came into the room, dragging her feet a bit and wiping her hair out of her face. With nothing more than a shirt and some shorts she didn’t look quite as bulky as she usually did, but she was still tall and Dean looked her up and down. She certainly no longer was the cute little Sammy that he had dragged out of Stanford and back onto the road. He saw her raise her eyebrows at him in a silent question and he stopped staring at her while lost in thoughts.

“Quit standing there and come under the covers,” Dean said and Sam complied, slipping under the blanket. She smelled nice, she must have used some Christmas themed shower gel. Sammy liked these kinds of things – bath and shower gel, soaps and eau de toilette – but she rarely bothered to get them. Dean switched off the bedside lamp and silence and darkness descended upon their room. Dean willed himself to relax, but found it quite difficult to do with his body constantly alert and him not being dead tired yet. Sam’s body radiated heat next to him and she squirmed a bit, trying to find the most comfortable position.

“Dean?” he heard her ask and answered with a ‘mmm?’ “Good night.”

“Good night, Sammy,” he replied and her moving about came to a stop. She was facing him, her eyes closed and Dean fell asleep listening to her silent breathing.

* * *

 

Dean woke up to the noise of people working in the kitchen, to the smell of Christmas spices and coffee and to the comfort of a warm bed. He felt like 4 years old again, but this was how Christmas is supposed to be like. Looking at the ornamental clock standing on his night table he realizes that he has actually gotten a nice amount of hours of sleep. No nightmares of hell or heaven – which was essentially the same right now in how it made him feel trapped within his own body with no way to get out but to die. He could run his hand lazily through his tousled hair, he could yawn freely and he could take his sweet time in getting up. There were fluffy slippers standing there for him next to his bed and he didn’t even think much and just slipped his naked feet inside.

“Dean. Breakfast is on the table.” Dean looked up and found Castiel standing in the open door, again wearing that apron. Dean didn’t really feel like thinking about a time after Christmas, but if Castiel had chosen to permanently switch trench coat for apron then Dean really didn’t want to have him anywhere near him on hunts.

“Yes, Mom,” he said and Castiel was gone in the blink of an eye. “Learn to use the stairs, man!” Snorting, Dean turned towards the corner of the room where he had thrown his clothes last night, but they were gone. On the chair next to the window he spotted a neat pile of clothes instead. Picking them up suspiciously, he found them to be a shirt, a sweater and dark jeans. And a pair of socks that looked like they belonged on a girl’s feet with its blue and burgundy patterns. All in all, no frayed T-shirts, plaids or torn trousers. Dean wasn’t sure about the choice of clothes, but he put them on never the less.

When he got down to the kitchen it smelt fantastic.

“Thanks for picking out my clothes for me, Mom,” Dean teased, sitting down at the table. He promptly received a cup of coffee and some pancakes.

“You are welcome,” Castiel said, “but I would prefer if you refrained from calling me Mom. It is not the appropriate-“

“Stop talking, Cas,” Dean grumbled into his coffee and the angel shut up with a slightly off-put look.

“Coffee, Bobby?” Dean turned his attention away from the ample Christmas breakfast to scan the room for Sam. She’d been gone when he woke up, but the bed had still been comfortably warm and her scent had lingered on his pillow. Dean spotted her leant against the wall, her hand raised to lift the curtains away from the window.

“Good morning, Sammy,” Dean said and she turned around. Apparently he had not been the only one that hadn’t made his own dress choices that morning. She wore dark stockings and a long, moos green woollen dress, a loose brown knitted jacket over it. He didn’t trust himself to comment on her looks without her thinking he meant it teasingly. So he said nothing and smiled instead. She smiled in return.

* * *

 

In the course of the day Dean and Sam found dozens of ways to do nothing. Bobby was in his library most of the time, drinking cocoa and coffee instead of alcohol and Castiel continued being oddly domestic, sometimes sitting with Bobby to help him research. The Winchesters mostly just took the time to talk and to dwell in the few good memories they actually had. They were memories of roads and hotels, of smells of things burning, of coffee and liquor. Dean thought of Dad and Sam of Stanford and it was okay to talk about it, to dwell on how secure they’ve felt without the other taking offence.

“You know,” Sam said when they were sitting on the front porch, steaming coffee in their hands and watching the snow fall, “I thought it would be a bit ridiculous. Us, pretending we’re actually able to have a normal Christmas…”

“Sam,” Dean groaned, fearing that she was about to destroy his suspiciously good mood by saying something ominous.

“And I thought I’d just indulge you because you think we’re not going to get through this, which, by the way, I think you’re an awful jerk for.” Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, not sure if this was the moment to get offended at her. Sam sighed gently and put down her cup to stick her hands into the pockets of her loose jacket. She looked out over Bobby’s yard, snow piling up and the lights still glittering. She didn’t say anything for a while and Dean took this time to study her. She was the girl he had spent his entire life with, the only woman he honestly cared about next to his mother. He felt guilt and shame and love and comfort and devotion and desperation all battling within himself. He didn’t know what she felt, he had lost the ability to read her quite some time ago.

“I enjoy it.” Dean widened his eyes for a moment and Sam turned her head towards him. “I’m not just indulging you, you know? This,” she laughed and indicated to her get-up and the lights around the yard, “is really strange… It’s… almost normal. I wish we’d try to enjoy ourselves more often, you know? And not just when you think we’re close to dying.” She boxed his shoulder at that and Dean had to laugh. “I’m serious, Dean. You don’t have to be close to death to allow yourself some good feelings.” Dean’s smile slipped just slightly, but then it was back in place and he grabbed her shoulder to pull her into a tight hug. She wanted to struggle out of it, but when his grip got less violent and he rested his chin on top of her head, she relaxed and allowed him to close his eyes for a second.

“Okay, Sammy…,” he said and kissed her hair, “okay.”

* * *

 

The actual Christmas dinner was quite something; their table was so full of perfect looking and smelling food that Dean feared the old piece of furniture would fall apart under the weight.

“Cas, awesome,” Sam commented, accepting the salad from the angel, “I can’t believe you actually prepared all of this.”

“It is interesting. I think I enjoy being a ‘house-wife’,” he said, complete with air quotes and Dean burst out laughing, almost spitting out the mouthful of oven-warm bun he was chewing.

“I shouldn’t have gotten him those magazines…,” Bobby commented with a long-suffering sigh, “I was right to say that they have no place in a house full of dudes.”

“Bobby,” Sam warned with a sharp glare in Bobby’s direction and the old hunter waved his hand dismissively, but Sam knew him well enough to detect the smile hidden by his beard.

“I am not a… dude. I’m an angel,” Castiel informed them, which wasn’t really helpful to Dean’s attempt to contain a laughing fit.

“Oh, just tug in now, you idjits,” Bobby said with a snort and there was no arguing with that. Fortunately, the food tasted as good as it looked like. Dean couldn’t help feeling a warm sensation spreading in his stomach. This reminded him so much of those long gone days, when the world had still been a perfect place, where his mom and dad were alive, when Sammy had been a comfortable weight in Dean’s arms, when she’d still smelt like sweet milk. Dean could hear the other three in Bobby’s kitchen talking and laughing, but the smile on his face faded. Sam’s very first Christmas, he remembered it… It had been a terrible affair, Sam felt like lead in his arms and the only sound drowning out her cries had been his own.

“Dean?” He snapped out of it and looked at his wrist. Sam’s fingers were gently wrapped around his hand and when he turned towards her she looked concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Uh…,” he shook his head, drawing his free hand over his face, “yeah. I’m good. Sorry, spaced out for a second.” Sam still looked at him attentively, but then she nodded and relaxed. Her hand lingered though, her thumb rubbing the spot where his pulse beat more than necessary until it calmed down again and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“So what’s for desserts?” While both Sam and Bobby just groaned at him and Sam even made a gagging noise (and honestly, how could Dean still want to eat after this Christmas dinner?), Castiel was quite willing to inform him that he’d made an apple pie. His Christmas dinner was complete.

* * *

 

Sitting with Bobby’s eggnog in the living room, Dean felt greatly pleased. Real candles were illuminating the tree and Sam was trying to teach Castiel Christmas carols with moderate success. Dean already had enough eggnog in his bloodstream to find it more funny than irritating. Bobby put an end to the singing by insisting it was time for presents. Dean straightened up, suddenly alert and nervous. Sam readily agreed and they gathered around the sofa, to unwrap the presents. Dean was pleased with his presents; Bobby had given him a rather potent hex bag against all kind of crazy witch spells, something he was immensely grateful for. Castiel had taken some of his bitching of a few weeks ago seriously and had got him original parts of the Impala he’d had to replace with lower quality things because they were no longer around. Sam was ever the practical girl as well getting him a new razor and she had re-recorded some of the tapes that were staring to come apart with wear and old age (of course, she’d also gotten him an i-pod with all his favourite songs on it, but he still refused to have it anywhere near his baby). All of them seemed happy with their presents and finally, Dean handed Sam his.

“For you, Samantha. Merry Christmas.” Sam’s bright smile was replaced by wonder as she took the present, her eyes fixed on Dean’s rather shy smile.

“You haven’t called me that in years, well, unless you wanted to make a point that I was being too girly for your tastes.”

“Yeah… Sorry for being a jerk,” he told her and she seemed perplexed. She tugged a strand of her hair behind her ears, then she started unpacking. The first thing Sam saw was an inconspicuous envelope. She took it and turned it around to find her name written on it by an unfamiliar hand. There were flower and teddy bear stickers framing her name and Dean had to press his knuckles to his lips in order not to gasp with the sudden emotion it invoked. Dean looked over to Castiel who was standing next to the tree to make sure the candles weren’t in any danger of turning the tree into a bonfire. Castiel nodded at him and tugged something out of the pocket of his trouser. Dean found it to be another white envelope with stickers of cars and cats and his name on it. He did recognize the handwriting. A letter from Mom.

“You can read that later,” Dean whispered and Sam, even though she was greatly intrigued, nodded and put the letter aside. What she found in the wrapping paper was a little bag of Christmas cookies, a little box and an item of clothing that proved to be a chestnut coloured wild leather jacket. Dean vividly recalled that one; his mother had worn it when he’d gone back into the past. Sam picked it up and Dean wasn’t even surprised when she buried her face into the soft leather. When she looked up at him, her eyes were inquiring and wet, even though she probably didn’t even know where the sudden familiarity came from.

“Mom’s,” was the only thing Dean said, even though he was as surprised as she was to find it to be part of the gift. “Why don’t you try it on?” Sam nodded and took of the woollen jacket, replacing it with Mary’s, made even softer by the years of wear. Though Sam was tall, probably quite a bit taller than Mary had been, it fit her perfectly.

“It’s… comfortable. And it smells really nice,” Sam said, pulling up the collar and smelling it again. She smiled, then she took the little box. She opened it and found a gold ring inside. “That used to be Mom’s ring… It was lost in the fire, but… I feel that it should be in your possession.” Sam was pressing her lips together, the muscles in her jaw quivering. She wasn’t crying – Dean didn’t want to see her cry – but her face held so many confliction emotions. Finally, it settled on a smile and she laughed, even though it sounded more like a wet sob.

“Thank you, Dean,” she said and Dean held out his hand. She gave him the ring and he tried fitting it on her long fingers. He snorted slightly when it slid effortlessly onto her ring finger. She looked at her hand in his, easily covering his palm with hers. The gold ring was worn, he could see scratches on the surface and it hadn’t been polished for some time. But it felt instantly warm and she smiled up at Dean. “Really… Thank you.” She let go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” Dean held on to her tightly and he almost shivered when her breath hit his ear in a whisper. “ _Yes_.” Before Dean could react properly she had withdrawn enough to look at Castiel. “I’m sorry, he probably made you fetch all of that.”

“You are welcome,” the angel said instead of replying to her question, leaving through the book Sam had gotten him (Dean assumed it was something along the lines of social life for dummies). Sam laughed, then she finally let go of Dean, but her left hand lingered on his upper arm.

“How about we get some pie and coffee now?”

* * *

 

_“It is a very comforting thought for a mother that her love can reach her children, no matter where, no matter when._

_Dean, there are so many things I feel like telling you, but on the other hand, I do not know what to say. I have you sitting here in the living room with me, on your angel’s lap as I write this letter. You speak of dreams and cars and roads. Time and time again I tried to imagine you as an adult. You wanted to become a locomotive driver, a fire fighter, a mechanic, a dentist, a rockstar, a ballerina, a baseball pro. You change your tastes so fast these days as you are discovering more and more of the world. Most of all you wanted to become a big brother. What are you today, all grown up? I cannot wait to see you develop into the wonderful man I know you must have become. Do you still dream of cars and roads and of taking care of your baby sister? I know that you still stick close to Samantha, the angel told me, but that and that it will be Christmas soon where you are was all that would pass his lips._

_But I do not need to know. There is one thing I know for certain. Whatever has happened, whatever you do – you will do the right thing. You will be perfect._

_I do not know if you are aware of it, but you were a gift, something I had craved for such a long time. You allowed me to leave behind the world I had belonged to for so many years. You were my new family and I am so glad - every day in my life - so glad that you were born._

_I love you, sweetheart. You are a wonderful child and you must now be a wonderful man. I hope you visit me from time to time, maybe with your wife, with your children. I will see eventually. I wish I could kiss you through time._

_Love and a Merry Christmas,_

_Mom”_

Dean folded the letter, careful not to let tears drop on the ink. He drew in a few shaky breaths of cold night air before he proceeded to wipe his face. He heard the floorboards of the porch creak.

“Hey,” Sam said and Dean sniffed as silently as possible, but he was sure Sam had heard him anyway. She sat down next to him, leaning her head on Dean’s shoulder, a hand on the middle of his back.

“Hey,” he answered, trying to smile at her. He saw that her eyes were also slightly puffy, the mascara enhanced eyelashes sticking together with left-over tears. “Did you read Mom’s letter?”

“Yes,” Sam answered, not taking her eyes off the snow falling.

“Wha-“

“I’m not telling,” she said and she turned her eyes upwards, looking at him through her bangs. “This is between a mother and her daughter.”

“Fine then,” Dean said, not really offended. He put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her close. For quite a while they enjoyed the easy silence between them, but then Dean decided that now was the time to ask.

“What did you mean when you said yes?” Sam was silent for a while, but then she chuckled and looked up at him.

“There are only two significant affirmations I can give at this time in my life. One will never pass my lips,” she said and Dean felt something painfully clench within himself. She lifted her hand and put it on Dean’s cheek. “Why can’t you be relieved at that? Dean… I know you still have trouble believing me… But don’t make it any more difficult for either of us… Just… Just believe me when I tell you I do not plan on abandoning you…” Dean didn’t reply, he couldn’t, but when he turned his eyes downwards he saw his mother’s ring sitting on Sam’s ring finger.

“So…” Sam took her hand away, her fingertips already cold from being outside.

“Dean… Enough with the playing normal already, okay?” she asked and he flinched, “We are not normal. We have never been… At least not since the night Mom died. We spent our lives on the road and in motel rooms. We’ve moved all across the country and we’ve done and seen things normal people don’t even have nightmares about. You’ve been to hell and back and if hell could have its way with me I’d probably follow suit. I am happy that you want to bring something like normality back into my life but I’ve been there. I have tried to be normal and it didn’t work. All we can do is let some of the structures of normal life bleed into what is normal for us…” Dean listened to her without saying anything. He knew that she was right, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to hear it. He wanted to continue believing that it was something he could try to give her.

“I’m sorry Sam… I’m always messing up,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, but the sharp, chastising look Sam gave him forced him to look away.

“No… Dean shut up about that. You’ve done nothing wrong. All of your life you’ve tried to look after me. You’ve been my father, my mother, my teacher and my brother all at once. How could you possibly think you’ve failed me?” Dean didn’t answer and Sam sighed deeply, but reached out to take Dean’s hands into hers. “Listen, Dean. We’ve spent all of our lives together. And we will probably stick together for the rest of it as well. So I’m giving you the other yes that I have to give.” Dean looked up at her and the sad but still hopeful look in his eyes almost made her cry out in frustration. “I will always stay with you. I will listen to your music, your bad jokes, I will watch your series, I will buy you your beer. I will hunt with you and patch you up. I will look after you, I will clean your laundry and your traces. And I will still do it when we’re both as old as Bobby, possibly even longer. If you let me I will kiss you and love you. And even if you don’t, I will give you what you always gave me; a family.” Dean could only see her foggily through his tears and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he only nodded. “We’re family Dean. So, yes. I, Samantha Winchester, will be yours forever.” She reached out and kissed his forehead.

“Samantha… You,” Dean had to clear his throat and laughed when he looked up at her. “You’re such a girl at times.”

“Shut up,” Sam snorted and Dean leant in to kiss her lips. “Just say yes to me and _only me.”_

“ _Yes_.”

 

**Merry Christmas~**


End file.
